I’ll tell you; this pandemic has literally taken a toll on me. And I’m not the only one. We’ve all been affected by life in 2020. The New Year may have garnered hope for one month but from February on it spiraled downhill.
Jobs were lost. Loved ones became fatally ill. Survivors who caught the COVID-19 virus were lucky and some were affected with permanent damage. Working from home became the new normal. Masks are the newest and most-needed accessory.
Forget earrings and lipstick! These days it’s the mask that matters!
We don’t socialize. We don’t go to movies. We don’t go to concerts. Restaurants—the ones that haven’t closed, do mostly take out these days and when patrons do go out for a meal, are seated at a safe distance.
Whether a first-run or a film revival such as watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s on the big screen. It’s gonna be awhile–hopefully! Seriously. There’s nothing like a movie at the theatre!
This pandemic has left me with an 18-pound weight gain that is almost impossible to rid myself of and a depression that is battled every day. I’m so spent by the time I arrive home from work that there is no energy left to do even the simple things—such as a walk around the block or stretching to keep my body limber.
To be honest, this isn’t too far removed from what my gut looks like at the present!
Yes. I am lucky to have a job. I realize that. I work for two women who are wonderful superiors. I just don’t like what I do. There is no creativity. There is no humor or excitement. It is mundane and wearing on me. But still, it’s a paycheck and medical benefits. I cannot complain about that.
Me upon arriving home from the office. Every. Single. Evening.
And I did some deep thinking. Pondering if I should even continue the blog or let it fade into cyber-oblivion.
Do I REALLY want to give up on my blog?
My spirit for writing has been at bay and I’ve felt awful about it. I love writing. I love expressing my thoughts and having those words mean something to people. When I can write with heart, it can touch emotions. And that is important.
And I went back to the past. 2015. To my first blog post. I started a blog to keep my sanity. At the time, the company I worked for closed. It was the second consecutive company I worked for that closed. It wasn’t the best of times for me. And it wasn’t the best of times for others because they were going through many of the things I was going through.
This photo is from my second-ever Blog post: A Great Weekend In Brooklyn and remains my favorite post ever. It was the greatest weekend. All three kids were living in New York. Oona wasn’t in Ohio and Jake wasn’t in Los Angeles. They gifted me and Bonaparte with the best weekend ever! Here it is to enjoy once more! A Great Weekend in Brooklyn
When this blog was young, it was filled with fun stories. Just filled with things I liked, travel, food, clothes and makeup—with a few wigs thrown in. Writing made me happy.
And that is what I need to return to. The blog isn’t meant to garner millions of readers—it’s meant to appeal to those who can relate to a typical woman in her 60’s and what life brings. When I post a photo, it isn’t photoshopped or filtered to high heaven. It’s me. Not a catfish or a phony, touched-up photo. It’s real.
Hello Darling! No photoshop here but I must admit that sunglasses are a great beauty asset! It’s very Breakfast a Tiffany’s!
Nobody is perfect in this lifetime and if anyone tries to persuade you their life is perfect, then they are delusional. Flawed is so much more interesting than perfection. We are all flawed—whether physically, spiritually, emotionally or any other way. We are flawed. And that is not necessarily a bad thing.
Alright. I stand corrected. Mary Poppins is perfectly perfect! But I’m not Mary Poppins!
My life is perfectly flawed. And I would not have it any other way.
It’s also important to showcase aging. Real aging. We don’t get the jobs we should get. We don’t receive the pay we deserve. America’s mature demographic is pretty-much thrown to the wayside in favor of youth, youth, youth.
Enlarged pores, lines, sagging skin, discoloration, dryness…it’s all part of the aging process. It happens!
And proof of the cosmetics and skincare industries showcase that youth with the use of “anti-aging”. I’ve said it a million times. Your anti-age when you stop living. It is pro-age.
Did I decide to continue the blog?
You bet I did! Where else can I go to bitch and complain or vent? Where else can I share tips on makeup and clothing—especially when activewear is the new uniform? Where else can I go to make others chuckle at my mistakes. It’s here!
Seriously. Where else can I go to bitch and whinge and complain? It’s here!!!
Oh. And before I go, please allow me to share a huge Oops that I made yesterday.
Yeah. This is a bigly OOPS!
Bonaparte has expressed his concern about my wanting to go vote in person. He sat me down and very pragmatically explained to me that, at 65, I wasn’t exactly in my “Youssss” anymore (“youth” for those not aware of his French accent). He reiterated at how the virus is making a stronger return and that I could be standing in hours to vote—and being docked pay because in this country, we don’t have an important Presidential election as a national holiday. He also brought up the subject of bad weather and le blah, le blah, le blah.
I caved in and told him that I would, in fact, vote by mail. At this juncture I was very excited!
On Friday evening, while enjoying our aperitifs, we filled out the copies of the ballots that were mailed to us—for practice so I would not screw anything up.
Now—the process in Pennsylvania is such that you complete the ballot, place it into a secure envelope in which you sign your name, date the envelope then seal said envelope. Then the secured envelope with the ballot inside is placed into another envelope. And it is either mailed via USPS or placed into a drop box in your local municipality.
This was the dopiest mistake I’ve ever made. In 65 years!!
It’s simple enough. Right?
Um. Wrong! I messed up!
We were at the table, completing our ballots on Saturday morning before driving to the drop box in Norristown.
I thought I did everything correctly until Bonaparte noticed my “secure” envelope, without ballot, sitting on the table while the ballot was sealed in the wrong envelope.
I tore the envelope and basically ruined my mail-in vote. And while the Frenchman was able to place his ballot in the drop box in Norristown, with the smallest line ever, I cried the rest of the day.
It was explained to me that I can go to the Voter Services office to obtain a second ballot, envelope, etc., but I don’t know if it will transpire in time. So, I may have to vote in person after all.
You know, the thing that kills me about all this is at work, I’m so cautious and organized. I have checklists for everything! And when it comes to my personal life, I’m the exact opposite. At work, everything has its place. Don’t ask me where my iPhone charger is at home—it’ll take a tour of every outlet in the house to find it.
And this is the election that really matters. Goodness v. bad. Empathy v. nastiness. I could go on but I won’t.
So, do yourself a favor—it you are doing the mail-in vote, make a checklist and check it not twice but thrice. Don’t do what I did!
I’m off to write another blog post. See ya later!
